


iron hand in a velvet glove

by jenkook



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Shiro (Voltron), Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Knight in Shining Armour, Lotor Redemption, M/M, Medieval AU, Mutual Pining, Paladin Shiro, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), SHEITH - Freeform, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Shiro is oblivious, Strangers to Lovers, this is basically the dnd episode with a twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenkook/pseuds/jenkook
Summary: When Altea falls to the Galra, Royal Protector Shirogane is quite alone in his impossible mission of bringing Princess Allura back to the throne. That is, until, he meets a bandit in the woods who has a lot more to offer than what first meets the eye.





	iron hand in a velvet glove

Shiro is not in the throne room when the coup is underway, like he should be. Instead, he's halfway across the castle in the servant's quarters, having been lead there by a knock-kneed maid babbling something about a commotion in the kitchen. As Shiro runs down the narrow corridors, he realises that this was all a rouse. 

The Galra are leading a siege against the castle and the Royal Protector is not where he should be, which is by King Alfor's side and fighting to save his life. 

As Shiro runs down the stone hallways, he sees the Galra soldiers have already broken into the castle, wielding heavy looking axes and jagged weaponry. They're nothing but a mere annoyance to the paladin, who elbows them out of his way, solely focused on making it into the throne room on time.

As he approaches the oak doors, covered in scorch marks and chips from where the Galra swords have tried to knock the door down; there's a heavy stench of blood is in the air. Shiro knows he is too late.

He kicks down the door, abandoning all pretence of being discreet. The scene that greets him should not surprise him, but it does.

Momentarily, Shiro is taken aback by the sight of King Alfor slumped at the foot of his throne surrounded by a pool of blood, that stains one area of his abdomen particularly badly. By his side, Queen Fala is attempting to wrestle off one of the Galra commanders, who has her fragile wrists in his grip. Shiro hears the crunch of bone and a scream, and this is all that's needed to spur him into action. 

Unsheathing his sword, he charges forward. Maybe if he can get to the queen in time he can save her... maybe if he can run for help in time he can save Alfor too...

"Let her go!" Shiro roars, barrelling forward. Before he can reach the queen, he's thrown backwards by an invisible force. Thrown through the air, landing about twenty feet away from the thrones. Groaning, he rolls onto his side and scrambles to his feet- but he's too late. In the moment he was knocked off his feet, the Galra commander has slit the queen's throat, and she has crumpled into a pile of blood-stained furs and white hair that is now a sickening peony colour due to the blood pouring out of her trachea.

The Galra commander turns to his soldiers, merely jerking his head in Shiro's direction. They advance on the royal protector, who readies himself with his sword. He's without his shield, but he reckons he can win this fight. There's five men, and none of them look particularly big or brawny. Shiro is larger than all of them, especially in his bulky armour. However, they carry gleaming daggers and swords that throb with purple essence.

And Shiro knows his time has come. 

He refuses to go down without a fight. He lurches towards the first Galra, their swords clash with a deafening clang. Shiro ducks out of the way just as another Galra soldier takes a swipe towards his head. His heart is in his throat, realising how close he was to death- how close he still is.

The Galra will pay. They will  _all_  pay for this. 

Shiro manages to spar with one Galra for just long enough for the throne room doors to burst open yet again, but this time, a fleet of Altean soldiers rush into the room. Leading the charge of soldiers is the Royal Captain of the Guard himself, with a steely grim look on his countenance. In the moment the Galra are distracted by the interruption, Shiro plunges his sword deep into the stomach of his attacker. 

Whilst he is occupied in wrenching free his sword, he feels a Galra blade scratch across his face. With a gasp of pain, Shiro stumbles backwards as he feels a warm rush of blood pour from the wound. Everything goes red as he's left staggering backwards with pulsating purple dots in front of his blackening vision. 

"Shirogane!" he hears someone shout above the dim of the skirmish. A pair of strong arms lift him up, and the Captain's face swims into his bleary vision. Over his shoulder, Shiro can see the Altean soldiers falling down. There's twenty soldiers and five Galra; how are they besting them?

"We'll take it from here," the captain tells him. "Go to Alfor."

Truthfully, Shiro cannot see the point of going to see the king because there is no chance he's alive, and not even the most talented alchemist on Altea could heal his wound and bring him back from the dead. But Shiro staggers over nonetheless, avoiding two heavily-armed Galra on his way. 

A deathly pallor has touched Alfor's worn face. Once one of the most handsome men in Altea, the King has lost his youthful looks by now- death does not suit him. However, to Shiro's absolute amazement, the king cracks open a brown eye to see who has clasped his hand to their chest.

"Shiro," he whispers, voice rattling like it's a strain to speak. "Allura... they have... taken Allura."

"I'll get her back," Shiro promises, with such fierce conviction in his voice that the room trembles. "I-I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Th-they tricked me. They lead me away."

"Allura is all that matters," wheezes Alfor. Suddenly, his grip on Shiro's hand goes very tight. "Bring her back. She is the last of the Blessed."

And the twinkle in King Alfor's eyes vanishes. 

His hand goes limp and rolls out of Shiro's clasp, splashing into the pool of his blood as it goes down. Shiro takes a step backwards, grabbing his sword tightly. He has to escape the castle- but how? All that the paladin knows is that he must get out of here alive, he's Princess Allura's lost hope. He will die before the Galra take over the Altean throne. 

By now, the fighting in the throne room has died as well as the Galra. The Altean soldiers were able to win by the skin of their teeth. Many of them are nursing wounds, some have collapsed onto the floor and are taking their final breaths. Thankfully, the Captain is still alive. He's bent down over one of his men, but Shiro has no time to speak. Already, he can hear heavy footfall approaching the throne room, another imminent attack is coming. 

Swooping down, Shiro plunges his hand into Alfor's pocket and feels his fingers close around something cool and metal. The key.

Now all he needs to do is evade the Galra long enough to reach Alfor's bedchambers to find the secret passage, which will lead him underneath the stables. From there, he can steal a horse and get as far away from the castle as possible.

His feet pound down the stone corridors, and the ground shakes beneath him. Shiro is vaguely aware of the shouting and footsteps behind him. Without daring to look back, he assumes he's being followed. Pushing himself further, his fists tighten and his arms pump through the air, barrelling down the corridors. When he reaches the second flight of steps, he comes across a short, chubby Galra dressed in finery. Without thinking, Shiro rams his sword into the Galra's face. 

The general screams in pain as he rolls on the floor, cupping the deep wound. Blood pours from what's left of his eye, as Shiro yanks his sword out of the gristle and continues to thunder up the stairs. He's so close he can almost feel his hands closing around the door handle. 

Before he knows what's happening, there's a boom and the whole third floor trembles. Shiro is thrown onto the ground, his hands over his head protectively in case any debris from the explosion falls on him. He's wearing his helmet, but even that will be futile against any heavy bricks hitting him. 

As the dust settles, Shiro allows him an ephemeral second to catch his breath. The explosion has actually been a blessing in disguise, having successfully blocked off the whole third corridor so the Galra pursuing him can follow him no further. He hears shouts of frustration, and the sound of sword smacking against stone. Shiro knows they'll be delayed for a while, yet doesn't dare to hang around any longer.

Fortunately, King Alfor's bedchambers haven't been touched, though Shiro knows it's only a matter of time before the Galra loot all the finery they can find. Shiro blocks the door with Alfor's heavy, wooden writing desk before surveying the room carefully. All he knows is that there's a door leading to a hidden passage somewhere in the chamber, but sees no immediately obvious signs of anything. 

 _Think, Shiro, think_.

If he were King Alfor, where would he put a hidden door? Underneath the heavy rug at the foot of the bed? No, too obvious. On the back panel of the wardrobe? No, too easy to access. 

And then, something catches Shiro's eyes from the corner of the room. 

It's a small cabinet, barely coming up to Shiro's knees, but he notices that it's jutted out of the wall at a slightly odd angle. At first, no one would suspect it, but only because Shiro has been scanning the room does he notice. 

Walking over, Shiro bends down to inspect it. It appears to be firmly stuck into place on the wall. Grasping it with both hands, Shiro yanks it as hard as he can- to no avail. 

Something begins to vibrate in his hand, when he looks down he sees that the key he took from Alfor is glowing bright. Shiro holds it up to the cabinet, waits for a second, and then gasps. 

The cabinet is starting to melt away into the wall, revealing a door that is no more than four feet tall. Shiro crouches down and inserts the still glowing key into the lock. It vibrates harder than ever once in the lock, and the door, like the cabinet, melts into nothingness. 

Shiro gets onto all fours, beginning the steady crawl through the door. He hears a  _clunk_  somewhere behind him, and assumes that it's the mechanics of the door falling back into place. He feels relieved to know that the Galra can't chase him unless they have the key with the Altean crystal that reacts to the door. Even in death, Alfor's mind is brilliant.

Shiro crawls for what feels like hours, but in reality, is only minutes. The tunnel appears to be getting narrower, then expands, then narrows again. His helmet scrapes against the stone roof, his back is so bowed that it's physically paining him. Pairing this pain with the throbbing of the cut on his face, Shiro feels awful. But no pain is greater than the emotional hurt he's feeling. King Alfor and Queen Fala are dead- their daughter kidnapped by the Galra- and it's all Shiro's fault. If he had been there, he could have prevented the attack on the royal family. He could have distracted the Galra and given them enough time to make their way up to the royal bedchambers. It could, instead, be  _them_  crawling through this dank tunnel. 

There's no way of dressing it up: this is completely Shiro's fault.

What Shiro wants to do is stop and allow himself time to process this, but continues to force himself forward. If he isn't careful, things could get worse by the time he leaves this tunnel. He dreads to think what will be awaiting him on the surface.

The tunnel ends in about fifty feet, much to Shiro's relief. He emerges into yet another dark tunnel, though this one is about seven foot tall, which gives him the opportunity to stand up and stretch. He gives himself a minute to catch his breath and inspect his wound. It's no longer bleeding, but he can already feel it scabbing over. He runs the pad of his finger over it repeatedly, ignoring the pain. Shiro suspects he'll have this wound for the rest of his life- yet another reminder that he couldn't save the king and queen. 

Shiro runs his way through the rest of the tunnel, having wasted too much time. Judging by how slippery the stone is and the sound of dripping behind the drumming in his ears, he's somewhere beneath the fountain in the courtyard of the castle. Once or twice he almost loses his footing, but presses forward. If he's underneath the courtyard, that means he's close to the stables. And the stables mean freedom. Although Shiro doesn't know where he's going from there, he'll be relieved to get away from the castle.

The tunnel is so dark Shiro doesn't realise when he's reached the door. He runs straight into it, seeing stars for a few seconds. His head throbs as he uses the crystal in the key to melt away the door, stepping out cautiously. He's in the bottom level of the stables, where the grooms keep the hay and tack. A lot of the tack is already missing, indicating the soldiers have taken the horses out into battle. Shiro's heart sinks: what if they've taken all of them? Going on foot is a death sentence, he'll be dead before he's even left the castle grounds. And if he is to die, then who will rescue Princess Allura? 

Cautiously, Shiro creeps up the stairs, straining his ears for any sounds of activity. The sounds of battle outside are dull, muffled by the impenetrable stone walls of the stables. He peers his head out of the trap door, seeing no feet hurrying by, so proceeds to heave himself out. 

As expected, almost every stall is empty. Shiro paces the length of the stable,  looking inside each one. There's a foal curled up in the hay, shivering, but that is no use to him. He'd kill it if he tried to ride it. 

Then, in the very far corner, Shiro hears a shrill whinny come from one of the stalls. He hurries over, seeing to his delight that there is one horse left. It's a beautiful creature, far too pretty to be used as a warhorse, but it will have to suffice. 

Shiro slips into the stall, shushing it gently in the most calming tone he can muster. He learnt somewhere that horses can sense fear. The last thing he wants to do is make this horse even more agitated. 

"Easy, girl," he mutters, reaching a cautious hand forward to tentatively touch her mane. Amazingly, she doesn't pull away or try to bite him; she just watches him with weary eyes. "Easy..."

She's still enough for Shiro to reach forward and grab her bridle. She shows no signs of struggling, looking rather resigned. The horse has it's full tack on, indicating that someone might come back for her, but when they do it will be too late. Shiro is already leading her out of the stable door and into the small courtyard. 

The first thing that hits him is the acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh. So pungent that Shiro has to pinch his nose to stop his eyes watering. The sounds of battle are much louder out here. The horse dances nervously on her hooves beside him. 

The majority of the skirmish is taking place in the courtyard. The fountain has crumbled and broken, the bushes and grass lining the courtyard are on fire and covered in rubble from the chunks of the castle that have been blasted away. Shiro has no time to assess the damage. He swings his leg over the horse, squeezing it's rump with his heels and they dart forward. 

The Galra are too busy fighting to notice the royal protector shooting past them on horseback. Shiro is no fool, he knows he won't get away that easily. 

The last thing Shiro sees is the Castle of Lions being engulfed in flames.

He knows that eventually someone will notice the hoof prints churning up the ground and follow them, knowing that someone from the castle has escaped. The Galra will probably try and capture him, he's the Royal Protector, the member of staff closest to the Royal family; they will no doubt want to torture him on information about them. 

From what Shiro already knows from the time when Alfor and Fal were still alive, Emperor Zarkon of Daibazaal cut his alliance with Altea for reasons unbeknown. Once, him and Alfor were great allies; leading both their home planets into prosperous golden ages. However, in the past few years, it's all gone wrong. 

Ever since his first conference with Zarkon, King Alfor had been looking increasingly older and much more weary. Clearly, their alliance was crumbling and no matter how hard Alfor fought; he couldn't prevent it. Then, it was announced that Emperor Zarkon was ending their alliance, and pronounced Altea the enemy. Shiro never understood why, the information was never properly divulged to him. He heard snippets while attending Court; all he knows that Alfor reckoned the reason Zarkon ended the alliance was because Alfor was in possession of something Zarkon wanted, but he refused to give it to his old friend. What that thing was, Shiro does not know. He assumes it's some form of weapon, or something to do with Alfor's Altean alchemical research. 

Shiro manages to escape the castle grounds without being pursued. Once he's out, he's at a loss where to go. Where does he even begin on this mission? Zarkon will have taken Princess Allura on one of his ships, so there's no hopes of chasing after them. Besides, Shiro has to be careful about this. He can't run in hotheaded, he needs to forge a careful plan. For now, he doesn't focus on that; he focuses on running for his life. 

He spurs the horse on, heading towards the thick forest down the gravel path. The trees should give him enough cover to go unnoticed by the ships in the sky, and offers him an array of hiding places. Shiro has never ventured into this forest, he has no idea where it will take him if he continues to gallop through. Maybe he'll fall off the edge of the planet. 

At this point, Shiro almost revels in the idea. 

After a while, Shiro tugs the reins and slows the horse down to a trot. They must have been in the woods for over an hour, yet he doesn't want to stop completely. He doesn't want to test his luck, just in case he is being pursued. Someone could have easily seen him outside the castle grounds and decided to follow him. Although, once he slows, he can't hear any footfall from behind him. 

Shiro doesn't stop moving until nightfall. The darkness masks him well, yet he still deems it unsafe to stop and sleep. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel too fatigued. He feels like he can carry on for a few more hours. They'll stop eventually, as the horse will need a break too. But not now. They need to keep striving forward.

They speed up into a canter for a while, it gets hard to manoeuvre the horse through the trunks of the trees that are slowly starting to grow thicker. 

After hours of riding, Shiro comes across a stream, bubbling enticingly. He ties the horse to a nearby tree, letting it graze as it pleases while he walks over to the water. Bending down, he takes off his gauntlets and cups handfuls of water, washing the blood off his face. It's dry and crusted by now, so Shiro has to use a bit of vigour to clean it off. Then, he takes a few long gulps of water, not realising how dehydrated he's been. It's summer in Altea, which means long, hot days and cold nights. It was foolish of him to leave without water, really, but now he's found a reliable enough source. 

Once he's scrubbed his face and neck clean of sweat, he leads the horse over by it's reins to drink from the stream too. Whilst she laps up the water, Shiro spares a few handfuls to clean her mane and neck. She's a beautiful white colour, looking almost translucent in the moonlight. Her mane shimmers silver, and her big brown eyes are framed by long lashes. 

"I don't suppose you have a name," Shiro mutters, feeding her a handful of grass. "I don't know what to call you, I'm terrible with names." All he knows for certain is that she is definitely a mare, as she lacks the appendages between her legs. 

"What about... Star?" he asks, craning his neck to look up through the canopy of trees. "Moonlight? Shimmer?" The horse responds to nothing, continuing to happily chomp on the long, unkept grass on the bank. 

Shiro deliberates, stroking her neck absent-mindedly. "What about... Luna?"

She lifts her head up to shake some droplets of water out of her mane, causing Shiro to smile softly. It's the most response he's got to any of the names he's reeled off so far. Luna it is. 

For a while, Shiro sits by the stream. While constantly on alert, he feels like he's in no immediate danger. Whilst Luna grazes, he rummages around for something to eat. Before he became a soldier, he was taught how to survive in the woods if he ever became stranded or was separated from his battalion. He knows which fungi to avoid and which ones are safe for consumption, he also knows how to kill and skin an animal if needs be; he isn't too enthusiastic about this idea, though. He fears his Altean sword would completely butcher them beyond recognition.  

Shiro doesn't risk starting a fire, so uses the moonlight reflecting off the stream as a source of light. He finds a handful of rubbery, water-dwelling mushrooms to snack on. They taste of nothing, and slip down his throat with a dissatisfying slimy feeling. He shudders, choking them down. However, he'll have to get used to this if he's to continue to live on the run. Shiro wonders if things will ever be the same if he returns Allura back onto the throne. Or will Zarkon be too powerful to stop? What will happen to the people of Altea under a Galra rule?

Suddenly, Shiro feels the need to put as much distance between him and the castle. He's been loitering for too long. Saddling Luna up, they set off once more into the night. 

***

The next day passes without event. No one catches up to Shiro and captures him. In fact, their ride is very peaceful–almost  _too_  quiet. Their journey is a lot slower, never going faster than a canter. Shiro becomes quite worried that he's going to run out of forest to hide in. Thankfully, it appears to continue further than he realises. There are many bridges he will have to cross when he gets to them–this is one of them.

Halfway through the day, around noon, Shiro stops for a while. The sun is relentless, it's warmth seeping through the canopy of trees and beating down unbearably on him. It's no easy feat travelling in the warmth, protected by such bulky armour. Shiro feels quite faint when he slides off Luna's back to take refuge under a shadowy tree. He never lets the horse stray too far out of his sight, but she's found a patch of something exciting in the distance. Her snout is buried deep in the ground and Shiro can hear her snuffling loudly. The copse is so quiet that he doesn't worry about anyone finding them. Besides, they've been travelling for almost twenty-four hours, he has a very large advantage on whoever could be chasing him.

Then, something catches Shiro's eye. It hangs off Luna's saddle, swinging around by her stomach. Shiro wanders over, stroking her rump to alert her he's there, and he reaches for the bag on her saddle. 

He tips the contents of the bag onto the ground with an exhale. The bag is full of supplies- the saddlebags, of course! How could he have forgotten them? Each horse has a saddlebag attached to their tack in the instance that their rider is stranded somewhere and needs the supplies. From the loot Shiro picks out; a small vial of blue potion, twenty wafer-thin crackers, thick gooey spread that is full of protein, used by the soldiers when they're on their bulking diets, a small metal instrument he doesn't recognise, and a roll of bandages. 

It's better than nothing, Shiro decides. But he won't use his supplies unless he's in an absolutely dire situation. For now, he can continue to forage for food and water. 

Just as he is loading the supplies back into the small cloth bag, a shadow falls over him. Looking up, Shiro sees that an arrow is pointed inches away from his eyes. Something green is dripping off the tip of the arrow. When it lands on the grass, it hisses and a tendril of smoke curls up. 

 _Poison_. 

Shiro freezes, his heart thrumming painfully in his rib cage. His eyes are wide as he looks up at his attacker. A man, not much older than himself. His violet eyes are narrowed in suspicion, his black hair is a tangled mess down to his shoulders, and he's wrapped in a matted fur cloak. Shiro is no fool, he knows he's being held by a bandit. 

The bandit's jaw is tight. At his ankles is an enormous wolf, almost as tall as the man himself. Shiro's eyes almost fall out of his head as he tries to take his eyes off the mongrel to meet the bandit's gaze. 

"Who are you?" the bandit demands. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm Takashi Shirograne, Royal Protector to King Alfor-" he cuts himself off. No longer is he a royal protector, as there is no royal family left for him to look out for. Not that he did a good job of that to begin with. 

"Why are you here?" the bandit demands. 

"I'm running away," says Shiro, truthfully. "The Castle of Lions has fallen to the Galra. King Alfor and Queen Fala are dead."

The bandit freezes, something flickers in his eyes. Fear? No, it can't be. Why would a bandit in the woods be scared of the thought of the Altean royalty falling? 

Perhaps what was in his eyes was realisation. 

"So you're a traitor."

Shiro splutter indignantly, forgetting his fear. "I am no traitor! I ran from the castle because I was given the task of finding Princess Allura, who has been kidnapped by the Galra."

The bandit mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like 'Lotor'.

"What?" Shiro asks sharply. "You know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the bandit snaps, jabbing his arrow dangerously close to Shiro's face. The paladin seizes to talk. He's so close to the metal tip of the arrow he can see his own terrified reflection staring back. 

He sees the bandit looking down and eyeing his supplies with interest. More so, he's looking at Shiro's sword, which is also laid on the ground. It's a fine piece of weaponry; the hilt encrusted with Altean crystals and the blade made of imposing, gleaming steel. 

The bandit notes the man's armour. It looks expensive- of course it is if he's in the Altean militia- and could be worth a lot on the black market. So all he has to do is kill the knight, take his belongings and be on his way. 

Yet he can't bring himself to do so. 

"What have you heard?" Shiro asks desperately. "What is the word from the castle?"

"I haven't heard anything," the bandit replies, unconvincingly. "This is the first I'm finding out about it. That is if you're telling me the truth, and you're not just some scumbag traitor who's run away."

"I would never lie," Shiro says profusely. And even though the bandit doesn't even know him, he finds it in his heart to believe him. 

The bandit lowers his arrow slightly, but the wolf continues to growl. Behind the knight, his horse hasn't even noticed the altercation. It contently truffles in the undergrowth.

To Shiro's utmost amazement, the bandit offers out his hand to help him to his feet. Even though Shiro isn't injured and knows full well he can stand on his own, he accepts the offer nonetheless. Once face-to-face, Shiro notices the bandit is considerably smaller than him; if it came down to it, Shiro reckons he could beat him in the fight. 

Then he remembers the wolf, and eschews any ideas of making a bid for freedom. 

"What's your name?" inquires Shiro. He expects the bandit to remain silent, or stab him, but what he doesn't expect is an actual reply. 

"My name is Keith," the man replies, sounding weary. 

"Well... it's good to meet you, Keith," Shiro acknowledges awkwardly.

Keith does not reciprocate. 

"So you ran away when the Galra attacked?" Keith prompts, to which Shiro gives a curt nod. Keith's eyebrows knit together in the middle, and Shiro wonders what he could possibly be thinking about. Bandits don't get involved in royal affairs, in fact, they go out of their way to disobey the law and make the royal court look foolish. So why does Keith seem so concerned?

"Do you have a plan on how to get the princess back?"

"Not yet," replies Shiro, mildly defensive. "It's only been a day, after all."

Keith grunts. 

"Come with me," he instructs, to which the paladin freezes. "Come on, we don't have all day," he urges. 

"I... I- you expect me to just come with you, when I don't even know you?" Shiro asks incredulously. "You're a bandit! You could be luring me into a trap to kill me!"

"Believe me, I'm not," Keith says, darkly. "Just follow me.  _Please_?"

Shiro hesitates, looking into the bandit's imploring eyes. A strand of hair falls into Keith's eyes, making him look even more earnest. This causes Shiro's throat to tighten in an unexplainable way. 

Wordlessly, Shiro collects his belongings, sheaths his sword, and tugs the horse away from the thicket of grass; beginning to follow Keith. 

They walk in silence, Keith and his wolf always ten steps ahead of Shiro and Luna. Occasionally, the bandit will turn around to ensure Shiro is still following him, then will speed up his pace. If Shiro didn't have such a high stamina, he would be finding it difficult to keep up. 

After ten minutes of walking, they emerge into a clearing which is situated by a small, wooden cabin. In the yard there's a tree stump, an axe and a pile of logs. The stone chimney of the cabin intermittently puffs smoke, indicating that somebody lives here. However, Shiro doesn't expect that  _Keith_  is the one to reside here. 

"Tie your horse to the stump," he gestures. "And meet me inside." 

Shiro hesitates as Keith disappears into the shack. He needs a few moments to compose himself. Is he being kidnapped? Is Keith (is that even his real name?) going to hold him hostage, rob him of his goods and leave? Does this cabin even belong to him? Shiro has so many questions buzzing around his mind he doesn't know where to begin. The most prevalent one is:  _how does Keith know so much_? 

Surely, living in the woods would mean Keith was out of touch with the outside world- not knowing more than Shiro does. How did he know about Lotor? 

Once Luna is safely tethered up, Shiro risks going inside. Gently, he pushes open the door and steps inside the cabin. It appears to be one large room, with a bed in the corner, a small kitchen in the other, and a large fire blazing in the middle of the room. The wolf situates itself on the hearth rug in front of it, basking in the warmth. Keith doesn't sit in one of the two plus chairs facing the fire, he stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, looking reproachful. 

Shiro gets the chance to speak first.

"You're helping me," he states. "Why?"

"Because you need it," shrugs Keith, infuriatingly evasive. 

"There's a catch, what is it?"

"I help you and you help me in return. Simple."

"I'm not becoming a bandit," Shiro says seriously, which makes Keith emit a soft chuckle. Alarmingly, Shiro's stomach lurches at the sound. 

Stood in the glow of the fire, Keith looks rather beautiful, in a strangely dangerous way. He's like a rose; pretty to look at, but covered in thorns. Shiro daren't get near him in fear of being stung. 

"That's a bad wound on your face," Keith remarks. Instinctively, Shiro reaches up to touch the cut across his face. It stretches across his nose and halfway across his cheeks. He wonders how horribly disfigured he looks with it. 

"Have you cleaned it?"

"With water from a stream," he replies. "I tried to find some Juniper berries but I couldn't..." His voice trails off as Keith's lips curl into a smile- but not the most pleasant of ones. 

"Juniper berries don't grow in the dark," Keith reminds him, apparently finding his ignorance funny. "I thought you'd have known that,  _Royal Protector._ "

 _Is he flirting with me_? Shiro thinks in a panic. 

"I have a first aid kit, come over to the light and I'll clean you up," Keith instructs. For a moment, Shiro doesn't dare move. Is this a trap? There's no way Keith can be extending him a helping hand, they don't even  _know_  each other. Half an hour ago Keith was all set to kill him; what's made him change his mind?

Shiro stands in the middle of the room while Keith goes to find his aid kit in one of the kitchen cupboards. The wolf stares at him through one menacing, amber eye. Like he's daring Shiro to try and make a run for it. There's no danger of that, however. Shiro is adamant his feet are glued down to the floorboards, with no chance of ever escaping. 

Keith returns, armed with bandages, sticky tape and a bottle of clear fluid. As soon as the fumes of it touch Shiro's nostrils, he recoils. He knows exactly what this is, having used it many times to treat his injuries during training. Waznik oil, and Keith's smells especially pungent. 

Shiro remains stoic while Keith dabs on the treatment, even though his skin is screaming in protest. He closes his eyes and tries to think of happy thoughts: polishing his sword, training the recruits in the courtyard, playing chess with King Alfor- 

Remembering Alfor brings a painful sting to Shiro's heart, which hurts much more than the Waznik oil. Keith notices him frowning, but chooses not to say anything. Instead, he stands back and admires his handiwork. There's nothing Keith can do about the scarring, it's just something Shiro will have to learn to live with. Nonetheless, he's still staggeringly handsome. And tall. And muscular. The perfect embodiment of what a Royal Protector should be. There's a small part of Keith that feels rather lucky about the recent turn of events, as it lead Shiro to be here. With him. Stood in his cabin.

"We're done," Keith tells him. "I'm going to put a bandage on."

Keith rips off a strip of bandage with his teeth. With surprising gentleness, he drapes it across the bridge of Shiro's nose, then sticks it down with sticky tape. Shiro doesn't complain, Keith is helping him out and that is the main thing.

"There," the bandit steps back. "Done. How did you get that anyway?"

"The Galra," Shiro says, with such poison in his tone that it makes Keith physically blanch. "When they killed Alfor." 

Keith chews his lip, then lets out a resigned sigh. "I'm sorry about what happened."

Shiro waves off his sorrow with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't be, it was my fault." 

Before Keith remembers that it's too dangerous to ask too many questions, he blurts out, "how?"

Shiro looks reluctant, pain flickers across his visage. He squeezes his eyes shut. Keith feels stupid and tactless. He is about to apologise when Shiro gives him an answer. 

"I was... tricked," he says, quietly, barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I was lead to the other end of the castle while the Galra were in the throne room."

Keith frowns. "That isn't your fault. You weren't to know."

Shiro shrugs, clearly finished with talking about the matter. So Keith drops it. 

Shiro surveys the room, taking in every piece of furniture and ornament hung above the fireplace. Keith stands still, waiting for him to make the next move. Truthfully, Keith wholly expects him to run away. Their chance encounter has been a run of too much good luck; and if there's anything Keith has learnt, it's that he doesn't have a lot of that. 

"Who else lives here?" asks Shiro, startling the silence. 

Keith cocks his head, maintaining a cool pretence. 

"There's two chairs, and a double bed," Shiro nods, and he is correct. 

"Do you think I don't have friends?" Keith asks coolly. "Or aren't bandits allowed to have them?"

Shiro snorts. "I'd rather not be outnumbered by you all if it came to it." 

Keith casts his mind to his ragtag group of friends, and has to suppress a laugh. If it did indeed come to it, it would take only seconds for Shiro to beat them all. Well, maybe Keith would give him a run for his money; but the others wouldn't stand a chance. 

An awkward silence envelops them both, while Shiro shifts uncomfortably on the feet. There's so many things he wants to pry about, ultimately he knows he can't; because why would Keith tell him anything? Just because Shiro is an honest person doesn't mean everyone he encounters is the same. Especially mysterious bandits who live in solitude in the middle of the woods. 

"Do you want some food?" asks Keith, surprising him yet again. 

"I-uh... sure," Shiro finally manages to stutter out. "Thanks."

"Sit down," Keith instructs. He sees Shiro eyeing the large wolf, and smirks. "Don't worry, Kosmo doesn't bite unless he's told to."

Shiro slowly lowers himself down onto the chair while Keith goes into the kitchen to make him something to eat. He doesn't have a lot in stock himself, he'll have to make a trip to the market before long. He should wait until Krolia returns home, though. He knows it isn't safe to be venturing too far out. 

Meanwhile, Shiro carefully reaches his hand out to pet Kosmo. The wolf is a great, shaggy beast; with long white fangs, and an imposing blue and black pattern on his coat. However, as soon as Shiro comes into contact with him, he whimpers and rolls onto his back, exposing his stomach for the paladin to rub. 

"He's pretty friendly," Shiro says loudly, so Keith will hear him over the rattling of cutlery. The bandit finds himself smiling to himself, giving his head a gentle shake. Thankfully, the paladin doesn't notice; too engrossed in scratching the wolf's belly. If he gets the position just right, Kosmo will kick out his back legs and whimper. 

A few moments later, Keith walks over to Shiro and hands him the plate. He isn't remotely bashful about the meagre meal he's giving the paladin; he rescued him and for that Shiro can't judge or even utter one word of complaint. If he does, there will be trouble.

As expected, Shiro takes his food without griping. Keith smirks triumphantly, lowering himself into the opposite chair. He watches Shiro eat, silently. The royal protector paces himself, his disciplined training shining through as bright as a beacon. He doesn't ravage it like a starving man should, he takes his time to eat; to savour it. There's a part of Keith that admires his restraint.

"There's a well out back," Keith informs him, not being able to take his eyes off Shiro's slim, long fingers holding up the malt bread to his mouth. He quickly averts them when he sees Shiro look back up at him.

"You have a good set up here," the paladin remarks, seemingly impressed. 

Keith shrugs. "You do what you have to do to survive." 

Shiro simply nods, chewing thoughtfully. For a bandit, Keith seems to live a marginally cushy life. Usually, bandits never stay in one place for long; they move nomadically, never letting the law catch up to them. Keith, on the other hand, appears to live in this cabin in reasonable comfort. Maybe it's because the cabin is so far out of the way that no one will ever catch him... or maybe it's because he isn't really a bandit at all.

Shiro takes in his slovenly appearance. Keith certainly looks the part of a bandit, though it could easily all be a ruse. Shiro has been fooled before, Keith could be trying to pull the wool over his eyes. 

The paladin tries to relax. There's no possible way Keith could be working with the Galra; for one he isn't even one. He has pale skin, the same as Shiro- no purple melanin in sight. If there is one slightly odd thing about Keith, Shiro concedes that he has rather sharp teeth. 

But that doesn't  _mean_  anything. 

Shiro finishes off his slice of bread and cheese, wiping his hands together to rid them of any crumbs. Keith nods in approval at the empty plate, taking it back into the kitchen wordlessly. In his time here, Shiro has noticed that Keith isn't much of a talker. Then again, the situation they're in couldn't be any more awkward if they tried. 

"You might want to clean your armour," the bandit tells him, walking back in. Instead of sitting down, he heads towards the back door. "And you might want to dress in something more conspicuous. You'll definitely be recognised in that get up."

"Do you know where I can get anything else to wear?" he asks, keeping an even temper. 

"Borrow something of mine," shrugs Keith, as if it's obvious.

Shiro cannot help but laugh. 

"I think there's a bit of difference in size between us."

Keith moves across the room, as silent as a wraith. That explains why he managed to sneak up on Shiro earlier. He rummages around in one of his drawers, tossing tunics and trousers onto his unmade bed. Shiro watches in fascination. A few strands of hair falls in Keith's face as he bends down, and Shiro finds it... oddly endearing. He looks a lot less harsh that way. 

The bandit tosses a mass of black material into his lap, to which Shiro stares at it dumbly. 

"Don't worry," Keith rolls his eyes. "It's not mine. It's... a friend's." Before Shiro can say his thanks, he's slipped outside and into the back yard. 

 _A friend_?  _Does that mean boyfriend_?

Shiro is very surprised at the thought that manages to wriggle it's way to the front of his brain. He doesn't even know this man, let alone should he care about his romantic affairs. 

Amazingly, the outfit does fit. It's not unlike the underclothes Shiro has to wear under his armour- which by now need cleaning as they are wrung through with sweat- and fits him pretty snugly but better than anything else Keith could offer him. It's an all in one piece, however, it exposes all of Shiro's arms. He's only slightly self-conscious about the scars littering his skin. Something tells Shiro that Keith isn't one to hold judgement. So, he makes his way outside to join Keith and Kosmo. 

Keith has shed his fur cape and is wearing an outfit similar to Shiro's. For a second, both men stare at each other, frozen in time. With wide eyes, Keith's gaze rakes over Shiro's bulging muscles and the tight black material clinging to every muscle on his abdomen.

Shiro, on the other hand, is admiring the miles of Keith's flesh on show; revealing taunt, lithe muscles that were hidden underneath the heavy cape. Both of them feel oddly exposed, yet neither of them make any movement. Only when Kosmo barks does the air suddenly clear, and both men look away, flushing slightly. 

"I-I came to clean my armour," states Shiro, holding up his handful of breastplate. 

"Wells there," Keith grunts, motioning to it. "Take as much as you need."

Shiro wanders over, dropping the armour onto the ground so he can focus on pulling the bucket up from the water. Sneakily, Keith watches Shiro work. His muscles stretch against the fabric, the seams strain in protest. A bead of sweat rolls down Shiro's broad neck, and Keith feels every muscle in his body tighten in anticipation. When the paladin re-emegeres, successful, with a full bucket of water, Keith quickly turns on his heels and pretends like he never saw a thing; his heart still thudding quite loudly in his chest. 

Shiro kneels down on the grass, with Kosmo snapping playfully at the rag in his hands. Keith sets about sharpening his own sword, which, he notices enviously, is nowhere near as impressive as Shiro's.

What was once gleaming white armour, is now smeared with blood and mud from the journey he has embarked on. Shiro scrubs the marks away with vigour, trying to pop out the dents in his breastplate where the Galra soldier's sword hit it a few times. The sun beats down relentlessly on his back, making the task much more strenuous than it should be. All that is to be heard in Keith's back yard is the whirring of Keith's grinder and a faraway flock of birds squawking and up-heaving themselves from the canopy of the forest. 

"Have you lived here long?" asks Shiro, eventually, once he's finally works up the nerve. Something tells him Keith isn't going to give him an honest answer, if his pinched expression is anything to go by. 

"About a year or so," he replies. "So, no, not long."

They fall back into silent work, but Keith has stopped sharpening his sword. Instead, he's staring at the back of Shiro's neck; this time, not in a sensual way, in a dazed way. 

"You said you were the royal protector?"

Shiro looks up, giving a small nod. "Yeah," his voice is small. No longer is it a position to be proud of. Instead, the moniker reminds him of what a failure he is; how he didn't carry out his only duty. 

"What... um... was it like?" Keith asks, conversationally. 

"It was... interesting. Every day brought something new," Shiro begins. "I wasn't always the Royal Protector, I was a soldier first and just worked my way up. King Alfor saw me training one day and decided to promote me.." His voice trails off, looking down at his knees with a troubled mien. 

"You must have been good," Keith says airily. "You can't be much older than... what? Twenty?"

"I'm twenty-five, but thank you," the paladin manages a smile. Keith reciprocates shyly. 

"This must be quite a shock for you," says Keith, quietly, minutes later. 

Shiro shrugs. "I'm a soldier. I'm used to roughing it."

His words are innocuous, yet that doesn't stop Keith feeling warmth in his face. 

Shiro feels comfortable enough to whistle while he's scrubbing his armour, and Keith finds himself enjoying the sound. Usually, it doesn't take a lot for other people to irritate him. Shiro has done nothing so far, surprisingly. Perhaps Keith is being more lenient with him because he's so good-looking. 

And he'll be very useful in his plan. 

The afternoon draws on, and by the time the sun is dipping beneath the tree tops, both men are just about finished. Shiro is drenched in sweat and feels the need to take another wash in the stream, whereas Keith isn't suffering as much as he was sat in the shade the majority of the time. 

Using water from the well, Keith offers Shiro a drink and he accepts it gratefully, gulping it down in three mouthfuls. Keith watches in fascination as Shiro's Adams Apple bobs up and down, and a stray rivulet of water trickles from the corner of his mouth down his neck. Keith's fingers itch with the need to brush it away- to just touch Shiro's skin- so he balls his hands into fists so tightly his nails embed harshly into his skin to stop himself from doing anything so foolish. 

Shiro welcomes the shade of the cabin, which has now cooled down ever since Keith deemed it warm enough to not have the fire on. He doesn't ask why it was on in summer in the first place. Shiro has quickly come to learn that Keith is fairly reticent- doesn't like being bombarded with queries- he's much more comfortable being the one who does the interrogating

"I'm going hunting tonight," Keith states. "You can stay here and get some rest. You look like you haven't slept."

"Thanks," Shiro nods. His eyes do a sweep over the room. "Where do you want me to sleep?"

"You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the rug."

Shiro frowns, immediately feeling his gentlemanly instincts kicking in. "I can't take your bed, Keith. I'll sleep on the floor, it's fi-"

"I insist," Keith cuts him off. 

"Well  _I_  insist you don't," Shiro says stubbornly. Keith would be annoyed if he didn't see a flicker of a mischievous smile on Shiro's face. 

"Well fine," Keith crosses his arms petulantly, trying to prove his point. "I guess neither of is sleeping then." 

"I'm a soldier, Keith. I can go for days without sleeping," Shiro raises an eyebrow. "I don't think that will work."

The words are just on the tip of Keith's tongue 'well we'll just have to share the bed then'. Only, they're lodged there and won't come out. He's known Shiro less than six hours, he couldn't possibly propose this sleeping arrangement to a stranger- albeit a very handsome one. 

Yet, funnily, Keith feels like he's known Shiro a lot longer than just a quarter of the day. Shiro is an old soul, as Keith has discovered; something that Keith can heavily relate to. Both of them are outcasts, and both of them are- unknowingly- on the exact same mission. Perhaps Keith is merely projecting onto Shiro, but the paladin feels like an old friend rather than a stranger. There's something so comforting about his warm eyes, and the fact he's still kind despite everything he's suffered in the past few days. It warms Keith's heart in a way he hasn't felt before, which is completely ridiculous because he need to keep reiterating  _he doesn't even_ ** _know_** _Shiro_. 

When Keith looks up from underneath his hair, Shiro is still looking, awaiting a response. Keith doesn't have any fight left in him, so he simply shrugs. 

"Fine, we'll see who falls asleep on the bed first then," he says, repressing his smile. He doesn't want Shiro to think he's going to make a move on him; Keith isn't the type of sleaze to lure a stranger into his house to sleep with them and then kick them out. In fact, Keith has put his whole trust into Shiro- which, admittedly isn't a lot- but it's more than he'd do for anyone else. He keeps reminding himself he only did this because Shiro is a vital pawn in the mission, yet he can't quite believe himself no matter how many times he repeats the mantra. 

***

Despite his arrogant certainty, it is in fact Shiro who is the first to fall asleep that night. He grows bored when Keith is out hunting- taking Kosmo with him- so the paladin has little to do. He browses Keith's humble bookshelf, but nothing catches his eye. Surprisingly, the majority of Keith's books are to do with Science and Religion, as opposed to Shiro's own fiction collection back in the barracks. He flicks through one book halfheartedly, before becoming bored five pages in and slotting it back in the shelf. 

Before he left, Keith gave Shiro something to sleep in. The paladin doesn't know where Keith keeps pulling these clothes from, but he doesn't dare ask. Shiro half expects Keith's angry boyfriend to kick down the door to see another man sleeping in his bed, and for a fight to break out. 

However, as the hours tick by, there is nothing but silence and the occasional howl of a wolf outside. Shiro idly wonders if it's Kosmo, but his eyes are too heavy to speculate further. 

He slumps asleep in Keith's bed, with his shirt off and in a pair of too-tight trousers made of itchy brown material that feels suspiciously like a sack. Despite the uncomfortable material, he's out within seconds. Shiro has never been the heaviest sleeper, any noise or the slightest change in his surroundings will wake him up, but he's completely blacked out all night; catching up on the sleep he's missed for the past two days.

Keith manages to enter silently, worried he'll wake Shiro up. When he sees the paladin sprawled across his bed, his mouth open slightly as he breathes heavier than normal, a triumphant smile graces Keith's features. Maybe he'll tease him in the morning about it, or maybe he won't say a word, it will all depend on how brave Keith is feeling at the time. 

Keith slips his own cloak off, having picked it up again to protect him from the bitterly cold Altean nights, and wraps himself in a fresh one; needing it if he's going to sleep on the floor. Just as he's lowering himself onto the rug with Kosmo, a voice rumbles.

"Keith?" Shiro's voice is thick with sleep, and sounds very disorientated. 

"Yeah," he whispers. "I just got back."

Shiro sleepily opens one of his heavy eyes. "Oh. I'm in your bed."

"It's all right, you can stay there," Keith tells him, wrapping an arm around Kosmo's neck. The wolf's shaggy coat will provide a lot of warmth for him too.

"No," Shiro argues, slowly sitting himself up. The poor man looks completely dazed, eyes wide and out of their depth. "Let me go on the floor."

"Shiro I will tie you onto the bed if you don't stop moving," Keith threatens dully. 

"I don't care," he says defiantly, already swinging his legs over the bed. 

In an instant, Keith is on his feet and standing over Shiro, his hand resting in the middle of his chest; ready to push him back down. Shiro blinks up in confusion, wondering if he imagined Keith to be on the floor the whole time. It doesn't explain how he got here so fast. 

"Sleep," Keith instructs him firmly. "It'll be dawn soon, and we have a busy day."

"We do?" Shiro's brain is still clouded with sleep. Keith gives a curt nod. "You best get into bed then, you'll be tired."

Keith almost lets out a scream of frustration.

"Takashi," he says through gritted teeth, but before he can continue, Shiro has grabbed both of his wrists and is pulling him onto the bed. Keith gasps, taken aback by the sudden action- he definitely wasn't expecting it from Shiro. The man seems so stoic and composed, usually. Not the type to enjoy surprises. 

Luckily, Keith doesn't land on top of Shiro, or else he would have been so mortified he probably would have died on the spot. Instead, he lands sprawled across the bed, and Shiro is stood up looking smug. 

"See? You're in bed now so you might as well stay there. I'll sleep in one of the chairs."

"Don't be awkard," snaps Keith. "Just get into bed."

"Fine," Shiro says, sliding underneath the covers. Keith stares, feeling his jaw go slack slightly. So all the protesting was just for show? To wind him up?

The pulse goes underneath Keith's jaw. 

"There's room for both of us," Shiro tells him. "If you sleep the other way. You don't even have to be near me. That way we're both happy."

Keith holds his tongue in fear of telling Shiro that he would be very,  _very_  happy to be near him in bed; especially when he has his shirt off and the tight trousers are accentuating his thick thighs. Keith feels like Kosmo drooling over a particularly fatty loin of meat.  

As requested, Keith cautiously slides into bed as well, on the opposite end to Shiro, so their feet are at each other's head. It feels silly and immature doing this, but it's apparently the only way either of them will sleep; seeing as they're not willing to compromise. 

Shiro drops asleep within seconds. Whereas Keith is laid in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, very aware of the heat Shiro's body is emitting.


End file.
